As the plane hit the ground, he jumped out of his seat and ran to the bathroom. The toilet seat was thrown up violently, and within five seconds you could hear the last twelve hours of his digestive history repeating itself. Back into the toilet. Wretching. Heaving. Puking. The flight attendants made comments like “oh boy,” and “he’s going to feel better after this one.” The last six rows of the plane had heard it all. I was in the back row.

I usually love Jet Blue, it’s the best way to fly. Digital TV is a bad excuse to not read or sleep, but it’s a really easy way to pass the four hours and five minutes to Denver, especially when Reno 911 and King of the Hill are having marathons showings. I can’t understand why I love Reno 911 so much, it’s the dumbest, most racist shows on television. I love it! LOVE it!

I am writing from Denver, CO, from a friend of a friend of a friends house, who, by the end of this trip will most probably be my friend too. We are all heading to New Mexico for an unexpected New Years of debauchery and relaxation. I can’t believe it’s tonight, this New Year. 2005. I hope it’s better than 2004, which was one of my favorite years to date.

So this guy pukes on one of the worst plane rides I’ve had in a while. The other two people I knew on the plane sat ten rows in front of me. Upon our re-encounter off the plane, we all looked at each other and agreed “really bad flight, right.”

Right. But today’s the last day of 2004. The purging was symbolic to me. Letting go of the year, getting ready for the next one. So, happy almost new year. I hope to write again tomorrow. But I don’t know what this New Year will bring.

Enjoy your last day in 2004. Enjoy it to it’s fullest.

“Bad girls do it with everyone. Good girls do it with you.” - anonymous, because I think he’d rather remain that way. I have no idea why I find this quote so amusing, maybe it’s because I’m trying to get my mind off other things…

like…

Staring at myself in the mirror yesterday, 2:45PM, I need to get to work. I’m applying a dollup of makeup, and I notice…

my left eye is totally fucked up and looks completely different than my right eye. I can’t stop staring at myself. It’s not because I hurt my eye, or it’s irrititated, or anything like that, my left eye just looks wacky. It doesn’t open as much as my right eye. I know no one is completely symmetrical, but still, there is a big difference between my two eyes. My left eyelid droops much lower than my right. It almost looks as if I have a lazy eye. Maybe I need a stronger contact lens prescription in ol’ lefty, then perhaps she’ll find the strength to rebuild, only I’m not so sure she will ever look the same again.

I can’t stop staring. I have to go to work, but I’ve become obsessed with the difference in my eyes. It’s a much bigger difference than I’ve ever noticed before. I look at myself from the left, then from the right. If I’m ever photographed from the left I look sort of like Sloth from the Goonies. Actually more than sort of. Which makes me sad and scared, because, it’s like I’ve always known something. I am one of those people who has spoken of Sloth on more than one occasion, and I’ve also thought about him and Eric Stoltz (Rocky Dennis in the movie Mask), more than most people will ever think about slightly deformed people in their lifetime. I’m now beginning to think that I subconsciously knew that I was different. That I knew that I too was slightly deformed, and that I could be related to either of them. Okay, I would more likely be the sister of Sloth than Rocky. I think I just loved the movie Mask and the boy with the monster face and golden heart. I really do look like Sloth now, with my droopy eye and awkward symmetry. I’d like to think I’m not vain, but I’ve realized, I am.

As I type, my left eye feels funny. It feels strained. Stressed, as if it knows that it’s the ugly stepchild to the right one. It’s like it knows that I’m talking about it, and that I find it disappointing. The right side of my face is so much prettier than the left. Besides this horribly flappy eye, I also have a capillary that I popped back in 1998 because I thought it was a zit, and now it won’t go away. Yes, that should be a lesson to stop popping zits, but that’s one lesson I may never learn. I like the buildup and release that comes with a good pimple explosion. I’m more careful now, because I don’t want any more popped capillaries. I was walking down the streets of New York a few years back when some guy came up to me on the street. Before I go on: I swear this is a true story. As I walked by he said “You’re really pretty. Except for that zit on your cheek. Pop that shit girl.” I started to tear. He wasn’t talking about a zit, he was talking about my capillary, the bain of my facial existence until I noticed my left eyelid last night. Now I have one more thing to hate on my face. Okay, not hate, but just wish it were different. Will my left eyelid only continue to droop as I get older? This is what I fear. Like I said, I’m vain.

I’m leaving New York in less than 12 hours. For 12 days. By the time I get back, maybe I’ll be like, left eye, what are you talking about?
Yeah, right.

I just realized it’s December 29th, as in two days before the end of 2004. The end of another year. Why, when we were children did years seem to last forever? I remember trips to the library, or the doctor, or from my old house to my new house (the next town over) seemingly taking hours to happen, and thinking how far apart everything was. Now, the years fly by before we wake up in the morning. In less time than it takes to shower, a year can end. Now everything is closer and more connected than I remember thinking it could ever be.

I overheard a wow, smack, this is life comment in the subway yesterday. Two women were talking, and one said to the other, “You can’t take this life for granted. One minute you can be standing here, and the next minute you can be dead. Nobody should walk through life as if they have forever, because you don’t know how long you have.” I don’t know if someone they loved had just died, or if they had simply decided to have a “death and dieing” conversation as part of their morning commute, but I was reminded.

We have today. Or this minute. Or right now, and then, we may have more time. It just depends how lucky we are.

And as the years are slipping through my hands, like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives. Which happened to be the only soap I ever watched, and for my 13th birthday, my aunt and uncle flew me out to LA to visit them, and to (surprise) take me on the set of my favorite daytime soap.

They had been friends with John Aniston, yes, he has a very famous daughter who happens to be married to an actor with the intials BP, who plays and may still play Victor Kiriakis. We met him in his dressing room and he let me watch that day’s filming, which was so cool, cause they filmed things two weeks in advance and now I knew more than my friends about what would happen to Jennifer and Frankie, Justin and Adrienne, and Victor. We also talked about his daughter, Jennifer, who at the time wasn’t a very “successful” actress, and John was asking my uncle to help her get work. My uncle, was, at one time, a casting director. John said he was encouraging Jennifer to get out of acting. Good thing for her she didn’t listen. I left the studio so happy to have my aunt and uncle, two of the coolest people I knew. And I got pictures with John and Wally Kurth (Justin) and went home and bragged to my friends.

Which was cool. Neither here nor there. I just feel like rambling, cause it’s what I do anyway. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I have to go find a dress. I think I’m getting in to the actual AVN Awards Show, which means I must look sexy. I’m getting in because I’m going to write about it. Which should be easy. Too easy. Like most people who go to these things. Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s just a thing. Like life. Take it or leave it. But it is what it is.

There’s nothing quite like setting up your desk and having everything fall into place. Your neighbors downstairs might actually hate you, because things are literally “falling” into place, and 1AM isn’t the best time to move your air mattress, but when the spirit moves you, it moves you. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Which is how it happened last night, after 10pm, when I arrived at my apartment. My first night there, really present, by myself, figuring out how to make the best of a small space. It’s nice to live alone. Even if the wireless connections around my apartment are all WEP or protected, and now I’m sitting at a coffee shop that I’d rather not give my business to, paying $9.99 for 24 hours of unlimited service. I have to have the Internet. Now I wonder, when did this addiction start? How did I, or we, ever live without computers?

I lived without computers for years, even though, at a very young age, my father took me with him to a class where we built our own computer. I was definitely the youngest one there. I loved helping him build his computer. We kept it for years. Now, I can’t imagine not having my compact laptop with me everywhere I go. And having a wireless card has become my favorite thing in the world. Even with the greatest computer invention since the Internet (wireless Internet is what I’m talking about), yesterday was one of the first days I couldn’t get online since I’ve been back in New York. I felt trapped, suffocated, out of touch with the rest of the world. I don’t know why or how, but the computer has become a major part of my life. Sort of like this blog. I’m seriously obsessed with writing at this point.

That will most likely change next week. When I’m out of town, and a little bit unavailable. Until I get to Las Vegas, where there’s a press room full of wireless Internet connections. I’ll get my fix. I’ll have to. The Internet is my favorite drug. Shit, that’s as weird as it sounds.

As I sit facing Canal Street, I’m thinking…
I don’t think the Asians in Chinatown really like White, Jewish girls. I may be making a rather large, general statement, but when I went into the hardware store near my house this morning, no one wanted to speak English to me. This place is like another world. Another city. It’s exactly where I wanted to live. I’m really happy about my apartment. It’s so strange and exciting, and it’s the first time in 14 months that I’ve had my own space to decorate in my own way. It’s my sanctuary. And that’s exactly what it’s shaping up to look like.

Even if I don’t have a wireless connection. I’m going to cave in and get DSL. Fuck, I already gave in and came to this god-forsaken coffee conglomerate. Don’t hate me for needing my fix. All junkies do.

I never posted this yesterday..so read it today, damn you..
This morning. The F to one stop. Feed cat. Shower. Pack. Go
The A to 14th Street. The L to the next stop. In Brooklyn. Deeper into Brooklyn than is still considered “hip.” Feed another cat. Empty litter. Play with kitty so she doesn’t feel neglected. Leave because you have to get to work. By 11:30AM.

Hop on the M. Take to work. Arrive four minutes late.
All so you can sleep in Chinatown on an air mattress. But it’s your air mattress. Your view of the Manhattan Bridge. Nobody can take that away from you. So you sleep there. Close enough to the cold tire floor to feel the frost. The view is worth it all.

It’s 1:30 before you eat anything today. Accept for the sugar water cappucino that froths and foams its way out of a machine.

Welcome to today.

400 steps, 4 subways, 2 burroughs, 2 cats and 3 apartments later.

All this after I expected to howl at the full moon for two hours last night. Only at Alex Grey’s Spiritual Sanctuary I found a lot of other things, but no howling. Like some interesting art work. I don’t know enough about Alex to comment on his work, but the drum circle was unbelievable. I couldn’t dance because I was, once again, thinking too much. It’s hard to dance when your mind is engaged. I don’t understand why I think too much. Sometimes thinking gets in the way. Especially when you want to dance. Dancing and Thinking don’t mix.
—————————-
My fortune cookie reads “nothing in the world is accomplished without passion.” I have plenty of that. Passion. It’s one of the things I can’t live without. Really. I leave in four days. Getting out of New York for 12 days. I’m expecting things to happen, which is never a good thing. So, this week I will focus on flushing out my expectations. After all, everything is found when you weren’t even sure if it was lost. At least that’s what I’ve learned.

Not really landed just yet, but touched down, found a home, is ready to nest for a minute. Just a minute. No longer than that. She doesn’t have time to rest just yet. But she has an absolutely killer view of the Manhattan Bridge. Even if the floor in her tiny studio is made of tile, not wood. Even if the building has made her think of doing a performance piece called “Project Girl,” despite all this, she has found a great slice of lower Manhattan.

For now. The eagle has set foot on ground. It will not land just yet.
—————————————————-
Chinatown. Christmas Day. Maybe the most unoriginal place for a Jew, but that’s where I found myself last night. The irony of it all is that New York City is a small town for Jews on a large religious holiday like Christmas. I ran into one friend from my eYada days, a college buddy and two girls from my Babeland years.

eYada. There was and is something about working on talk radio for the Internet, years before anyone believes it can really happen, that keeps you feeling slightly ahead of your time. I don’t mention eYada often (anymore) because it took me a while to stop mentioning that “long, strange trip” everyday. It was by far the best two years of my “corporate” life. We were one of the first, and definitely the largest of our kind, a talk radio station broadcast exclusively over the world wide web. The concept and shows changed more often then the name ever did, and we always knew we were an experiment waiting to explode. We had two options: the company would blow up, as in disappear, or blow up, as in by wildly successful beyond anything we could have ever imagined. We hoped for the latter. However, it was the former that found us first, and in July of 2001, two days after our CEO declared, “the fat lady hasn’t sung, but she is warming up in the corridor,” it was over.

September 11th would have destroyed us anyway, at least that’s what we all believed. Still, some of my closest friends and dearest radio contacts were from those days. I even ran in to Lionel, a still successful radio host, one night a few weeks back. The first thing he said to me, over three years later, was “Do you remember eYada? (It’s still hard to forget). I was trying to think about my best job, and that might have been it. I loved those days.” Okay, I may have quoted him off a bit, but when you’re writing from memory weeks after the fact, it’s hard to get too detailed. The point is…if we worked there, we remember.

I’m chuckling now. I haven’t rambled on about eYada for quite some time. I haven’t thought about it much, except on the occasion of chatting with Chaunce, Lionel or Bob (whose website doesn’t seem to be working now), or the even more obscure times when someone else reminds me. We had fans. A lot more fans than we should have had before DSL and cable were in everybody’s homes. We were still popular in the age of the 56K modem. We would have been more popular now.

Those were the best radio days of my life. And now, the people who meet me, who get to know me in my 30s, they have no idea about this part of my life. To them I am a writer, a sex educator, maybe even a freak. But I was once a radio and TV producer (and maybe even a freak). I guess I’d produce again, occasionally, if the money was right. Otherwise, it feels like a lifetime ago.

The eagle has scraped earth. The festering continues.

It’s 11:00 Christmas morning and the church bells are ringing outside my window. It’s the first real night’s sleep I’ve had in a while and I’m mad at myself for not sleeping ’til noon. Not that anyone should sleep their day away, but really, besides Chinese food and a movie, both of which are on the schedule for later today, what does a Jew do on Christmas?

I blog…do most other Jews blog?

I am heavily PMSing and everything is making me sad. I cried at the movie “Big Fish” when I wasn’t even really watching it. And I cried because one of my grandparents oldest friends died yesterday. They loved him so much, and it really put my grandparents time in perspective. And even though at 30 I have a better grasp on the concept of death then I did when I was 7, there’s something about it that I can’t understand. Even if, as they say in Lord of the Rings 3, death is only the next part of life, even if that’s the case, death means one party is ova. But today’s not about death, that comes closer to Easter, today, today is about “Jesus’ life.” Now, I’m just being sarcastic, but I’m not sure if you can pick that up.

But this is depressing stuff to talk about on Christmas. That’s what happens when you PMS. Depressing stuff comes out. But it’s Christmas and little children everywhere still believe that some fat guy in a red velvet suit has enough time to stuff himself down every single chimney in any country where Christians live and eat their cookies, drink their milk and drop off their presents. Silly children, but what an amazing thing to still believe in. A fantastical reality. That’s the best gift we all have as kids. It’s a sad day when we lose faith in Santa, or the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny. Although I never really believed in any of them, I’m sure I believed in another fictitious characters.

Like Freddy Krueger and Annie and Herself the Elf. These are the people or elves I thought were living amongst us. Sure one of them was the reason I couldn’t go in the basement alone until I was 18 (Hint: Krueger lived in a boiler room) but they were still my imaginary friends to believe in. Even if they didn’t bare gifts or good tidings, I believed.

So, believe in what you want today. You’re allowed. Even if you’re a Jew on Christmas, it’s still Christmas, and, at one point in your Jewish life, you know you wanted to believe…especially in Santa, cause he always had the best gifts.

Ho. Ho. Ho. You know you are one.

Merry Christmas.

If you were presented with the option to buy any life you wanted, whose life would you choose? How many of us would pick the same life that we now have? How many of us would pay for fame? For fortune? For the life of someone we know would remain disease free but impoverished? If someone tells you to get a life, do you think about the life you already have? Of do you want more?

I only ask because my life is my life. A “duh” statement, but one that has got me thinking this morning on the eve of Christmas. Holidays are a time when people connect with people, when one life begets another life, when …

I’m getting distracted by the porn I’m watching….

Okay, so getting back to the point of getting a life. It’s not only about the life you’d get, it’s about the life you have. And the not so harsh reality is, you can’t just buy a life, like you can’t buy happiness or love. You have the life you have. You can change things a bit, but where you were born, who you were born too, and the stuff of your past, these are all things that are not likely to change. Are you happy with the life you have? And do you feel the need to impose your life on others?

I ask because he’s getting back in touch with me, when the time we spent together was rather insignificant. He called. He emailed. Still trying to apologize for something I have long forgotten. And while this wouldn’t necessarily be something I’d give time or thought too, he’s once again invading my space when I’ve asked him to leave my life. To get and remain in his own life, and to stay out of mine.

I know you don’t know who he is, that’s not the point here.

I don’t care about keeping in touch with people, even after the fling has ended, but when someone that lives in your world for a week becomes majorly annoying, you make it a point to get them out quickly.

I think he’ll read this and for once, I DON’T CARE. (And if he doesn’t read this, it still feels good to vent). Until this morning I hadn’t read his blog since that week almost one month ago, but because of his communications with me, I wanted to check it out one more time. He has a big ego. He thinks I care. He writes as if we all do.

I know I’m being mean and maybe it will come back to haunt me, but I don’t care at all right now.

I’m tired. I have to work. The apartment thing is moving fast, so I’m starting to stress. I’m catsitting for three different “families” this weekend. I want my own bed.

I’ve whined about all this before. So I’ll shut up before someone tells me to get a life. But still, I don’t know why this boy has to keep contacting me. I wish he wouldn’t. I don’t like him. I don’t want him. Truthfully, I’ve mostly forgotten about him. I wish he’d stop reminding me.

Cause I have a life. One that, for the most part, I’m pretty fucking happy with. Let’s make a deal. I focus on my life, and you focus on yours…and mine as well, if you so choose, but just do it from a distance, okay?

From a distance…

The cheesy song by Bette Midler. But I won’t go there now…

cause I’m supposed to be upstairs selling sex toys and all day I’ve been feeding cats…oh, and looking at sublets.

(yes, my blog has come to a pictureless day)

Sublets. Yes, I found one, but until I get the keys Xmas day, I don’t want to jinx it. It’s a strange building, but what I’m really psyched about is that it’s a new location for me, with a fantabulous view of the Manhattan Bridge.

My own studio sublet in Chinatown.

I can’t believe I’ll be able to put magnets on the fridge, and write while staring at the most polluted body of water on the Eastern Seaboard.

Finally.

I feel like Christmas came early for me, which as a Jew, might just mean that Hannukah came late.

It doesn’t matter. I have a temporary place to call home. Almost.

Can you feel the excitement?!!!!!!!!!

Seb. Brett. Axl. iPod.

I love my iPod. I think the iPod is god’s greatest gift to music lovers everywhere, and no one is paying me to say this. For a girl who hasn’t had access to her CD collection, at least most of it, for over a year, an iPod is the best gift I could have gotten. I dreamed about getting one a whole year before I actually asked, and now, now I don’t know how I lived without it for so long.

Before 9:30PM yesterday, I had 321 songs on my iPod, which isn’t all that many, but remember, I’m “borrowing” music from friends, the only CD that I actually put on the pod that was mine was the Les Miserables Soundtrack (Disc 1) that I used at my parents house to make sure I knew how to work my mini music factory. While the process of uploading songs from CD to computer isn’t a difficult one, it is a tedious task. And every time I sleep at someone else’s house, I dream about their CD’s and what new songs I can leave their home with. It’s a pathetic way of life, but still my iPod and me, we have become the bestest of friends. Of course, I’m still searching for the perfect headpiece, because those small tiny white plastic excuses for comfortable headphones just don’t fit in my large but rather shallow ears.

That isn’t the point. Here’s where I can’t contain my excitement: At 1AM tpday, I had successfully more than doubled my listening collection. My iPod says I have almost 2 days (1.9 to be exact) of music worth listening to. I’m going to be brave and tell you what my musical tastes include:

BUT FIRST ONE MORE DISCLAIMER:
Laugh out loud if you must, but I like my bad taste in music..
These are just some of my latest additions….meaning, additions as of last night:

*Skid Row: Skid Row (the entire first album)
*More Bon Jovi than anyone would care to admit fits in an iPod
*Jay-Z’s Grey Album, which I have been assured is something I will enjoy
*Poison - at least three of their albums
*Counting Crows - two of my most favorite CD’s that I have missed so much.
*Shakira - another album I was told would be a great find
*Billy Joel - waddya expect, I’m from lawn guylind…
*Monster Ballads - if you haven’t caught on by now, I have a major soft spot for 80s/90s hair metal
which includes the 20 plus Guns-n-Roses songs that I now own (well, own in that iPod sort of way)
*Neil Diamond - just a few songs but anything from the Jazz Singer is worth a listen
*Madonna - The Immaculate Collection (Best of CD’s rock!)
*Aladdin
*Rent

All the music that you wouldn’t admit to, and probably don’t listen to..this, this is the stuff that you’ll find in the iPod I call “Your Mama’s iPod.”

That, and about 571 other songs. Some of which you’d love more than the aboved mention additions. Some of which you’d hate more or just as much. It don’t matter, cause these songs are for my ears. My ears. Not yours. Go get your own iPod.